Real Men Use Viagra And Not Yaoi Doujinshi
by pelokkain
Summary: Germany gets lost in Italy; his clothes are so horribly unfashionable that they taint the scenery; thus, Romano takes it upon himself to make him fabulous.
1. Chapter 1

Romano looked at Germany behind his Gucci sunglasses, chewing on his lip. And no, it was not because of sexual tension. It was because of a much more serious reason; and no, this reason was not that he was a goddamn potato bastard, or that Romano was wondering why the hell he was in the southern part of Italy can't he go to Veneziano's house, because fuck he is tainting the beautiful Italian scenery –

Even though Veneziano's house was Italy too – Romano's house was the _better _part of Italy, is all; with exciting mafia activities which America had _said_ he would make a movie out of.

He muttered something under his breath; and really it wasn't 'fuck the Germans – '

And he turned.

And he gave a glare to the blond-haired man, who barely noticed – he was more concentrated on a map, slightly crumpled. He must have gotten lost, Romano thought. Well hahaha, because unlike in some of Japan's yaoi fanfiction, he was _not_ going to help him, no sir! He was going to tell him exactly what was wrong with him being here! Right now!

"Ah . . . Veneziano's brother? The southern half . . . this map is wrong, then! . . . I wonder if Veneziano gave me the right directions . . ."

It irked the handsome brown-haired Italian (the handsome, sexy, delicious, captivating, chick magnet Italian –) that the German could remember Veneziano's name but not his. Even though they rarely ever saw each other. But that was irrelevant! He had to address the _true _problem at hand!

"Take off your clothes." Romano said; and no, there is no innuendo there, stop staring.

". . . W – what?" The German blushed furiously and Romano mused for a moment that he looked like a tomato but that was an insult to tomatoes because Romano liked eating tomatoes but he did not want to eat a stupid German because stupid Germans must taste like potatoes and ew, potatoes. "This is . . . it's wrong! We've only just met, and I'm looking for a commitment, and you're just not my type and – don't touch that!"

Romano paused in taking off the ugly, brown, lumpy jacket that was very ugly and brown and lumpy and resembled a potato sack and _ew, potatoes. _

"What the hell are you ranting about?" he said with a sour (but nonetheless extremely attractive because he was _Italian_) expression. "You're just like that bastard Spain. _Pervert._"

"I am not a pervert! You – you sleep naked, like Veneziano? That's being a pervert! I am perfectly proper, you know, ask Japan –"

"Don't need to. Already saw his erotic doujinshi of you and Veneziano." He replied, with a careless shrug. Not that he had read any of that erotic doujinshi. He was not that type of person. He did not need beautifully drawn doujinshi of a muscular German and cute Italian – he didn't. Really, that was disgusting. He looked down on anyone who needed that sort of thing! Viagra was for true men, anyway! . . . wait. Screw that! No, he didn't read doujinshi about his brother! Shut the fuck up, yaoi fangirls!

"S – stop touching me! I am not stripping in the middle of Italy!" the German screeched; the sound was oddly feminine, Romano thought, but he was not distracted, busy at taking off the blond's belt.

"No, you strip on _the bottom_ of Italy. At least, from that's what the doujinshi told me. Also I am the southern half, _so_ this is the bottom of Italy, and you're stripping here. Stupid potato bastard!" At which he inserted a charming bell of laughter which was not similar to a stupid "OHOHOHOHOHOHO WHO'S AN IDIOT NOW, YOU BASTARD?" Really.

"J – japan makes doujinshi? What is doujinshi –"

"It's pr0nz, you silly German n00b." At which Romano showed off his skillz in his colorful vocabulary. Finally he decided to enlighten the horribly idiotic blond. "You're shaming my country. You can either get the fuck out or I can strip you down and then have my way with you."

". . . w – what? You're – you're – "

"Improving your fashion sense?" Romano finished his sentence, knowing exactly what he was going to say; he was really that intelligent, but no, he did not have a romantic telepathic connection. God, no. "You don't have anything Gucci, do you. Stupid and fashion vic – murderer. Murderer!" he scowled the blond, grinning at his amazing-ness. The blond looked like he was going to scream rape as Romano felt his back pocket and pulled out Germany's wallet.

"Oh hey you're broke, that's no fucking good in my fucking city. But wow, you have a million credit cards – we can _use _this. You know what for?"

". . . you can't just take my wallet like that, it's robbery, it's –"

"My fucking city, my fucking rules. Shut up, you stupid German. Anyway, we can use this for _clothes_. Maybe I can buy some, too . . . maxed out my cards last week, so all I have are these stupid clothes." But then he took off his Gucci shades in an amazingly graceful fashion. "Except the shades. Rule number one, silly stupid German – don't ever touch the shades."

". . . I'm really very busy, I need to go pick up something from Veneziano, and if I don't, he'll lose it, and it's important – "

"You can pick up your vibrator later, silly German. Today, we make you a true man."

"T – that . . . you're not referring to – " The potato bastard flushed a deeper red. "Sexual activities, are you? We barely even know each other –"

"Oh God, German pervert! I meant, we are going to fill your closet with Gucci and pretty things instead of ugly lumpy brown things like potatoes because you are shaming my country and I hate you and I want some dominatrix boots."

The German was speechless in _joy. _Utter joy at being chosen by this hot sexy piece of man meat to teach him the ways of hot clothing hunting.

No, Romano was not delusional, shut up.

(In truth, however, Germany was extremely scared and oh God, this could not get worse.)

"Hey! German bastard! There's a sale, look it –"

(Never mind.)

The first lovely shop they went to that day was called Dominatrix in a fancy, curly type of font that made it look more like Doberman. This made Romano think of female dogs and this made him think of a certain curse word which made him snicker.

Despite the name, the store was actually quite innocent. It was filled with lacy, sleeveless shirts that had small, barely there skirts of lace after that, like a million doilies had died to make it. However, Germany's face still flushed toma – ugly unnatural potato red as he read the sign, which said 'Lingerie' – it sounded French, Romano thought; even though it came from the pervert bastard, it was not too dirty, actually. This made him wonder if the gutter-minded man had changed in the past few years.

"W – why are we here – "

"I need to get a new lin-jer-ee." Romano said, pronouncing the name carefully. "For Veneziano. He likes crossdressing, weird bastard."

". . . Can't we go somewhere more appropriate – "

The Italian gave a short laugh – it wasn't a snort, you see. "Appropriate? This is the most appropriate place in Italy."

Somewhere, in a distant place in Japan, a man named Kiku Honda had an idea for an erotic fanfiction.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no use denying it.

Germany [the fucking bastard] was really, really ugly.

His feet - they were not the beautiful, tanned, masculine toes of one Lovino Vargas [although nobody could care to imitate such South Italian beauty, besides maybe Japan, in his drawings of various doujinshi _which Romano did not read, seriously, stop it, he used viagra_], they were pale and white and German and like potatoes and ugh, the thought of eating someone's toes reminded Romano of Spain's foot fetish in that one fanfiction he read late at night, oh God, brain bleach _please_ -

[Why, Romano wondered, did fanfiction authors insist on making him bottom, anyway - not that he enjoyed reading that sort of thing. He didn't. Only girls read that stuff - and maybe Russia but that was because Russia was really, really insistent on making the internet one with him and well.]

And the worst thing about his feet?

They would not fit into the boots that would make even a German beautiful like only South Italians could be; how the hell did one get so ugly, what with those beautiful golden locks like that of Sailor Moon [which Romano loved and watched avidly, as Sailor Moon had girls in mini-skirts and thus was for the most manly of men and shut _up_, fangirls, that was not proof that he bottomed in sex] and with the wonderful pale skin like that of Edward Cullen, which sparkled in the sunlight like the vampire [Romano did not like Twilight; Russia did and Russia was his manly friend who helped him +1 in manliness by showing him all sorts of manly fiction like Twilight and other things with beautiful male leads]; it was odd, having a German with so much potential to be beautifu - okay-looking, who looked like . . . who looked like his face had been censored with a potato.

". . . censoring with a potato? What does that even mean - " asked the foolish German, and Romano realized that all of the above text had not been internal thoughts but been a long, beautiful monologue.

"It means that you're ugly as a German-Spanish fuckchild." Romano said honestly.

He then, spied out of the corner of his eye, a crouching shape in white in the dressing room. Romano gasped, and Germany's hand met with his face in a sign of him not being able to handle the Italian's beauty.

It was Japan, furiously scribbling down notes for his doujinshi [probably] because that was like, the only thing Japanese people did, Romano knew. Romano was very knowledgable about the other nations; Russia was a kind individual, Germany was ugly, Japan liked doujinshi, Italy was a rapist, Spain had a foot fetish, China was bottom, Korea danced in boy bands, etc. All this was supplied by fanfiction that an odd person he met in a chatroom gave him; an odd, yet trustworthy and, he reflected, very attractive, and possibly Italian person; their screen-name was simply 'Sexii_Shinattychan.' This person was Romano's best friend in the world.

Anyway -

"Japan-kun, desu, what are you doing here, sugoi?" Romano said charmingly, using his large Japanese vocabulary he had certainly not learned from doujinshi. "Kawaii uniform! =^.^=" Romano had even been educated by 'Sexii_Shinattychan' the art of using smileys in daily speech, as Japanese people did often, so his friend said. Japan stared at him in awe [and certainly not horror], for Japanese was a dying language and he had not expected this handsome, beautiful Italian to know it - he felt his heart soaring, wanting to kiss him, but Romano could not, and -

"Please refrain from butchering my language, weeaboo." Japan said, getting up from the floor.

Then they had passionate dressing room sex. Japan topped, but this was only because Romano was being polite, not because bottomed usually in sex. Because he often had sex! With women! Beautiful women begged to have sex with him all the time!

Germany cried very hard, for he wished he could get laid, as the young people of today were saying.

Japan dusted himself off after he put his clothes back on. "Are you having a homo-erotic experience with Germany-san, Romano-san?"

Romano was shocked by this comment; even though he had sex with Japan, he was very heterosexual! Thus, he replied, "Vagina!" trying to prove his heterosexual-ness, also taking out a comb and combing his hair heterosexually, to prove it to the delusional Japanese boy.

Japan mumbled something like, "I see - delusional . . . a sign of the uke."

"UK?" Romano queried. "England - that eyebrows bastard - I know what you're saying Japan! He does have very nice taste in clothing!" He took the hands of Japan and Potato-face outside, where Germany said something about him needing to retrieve his shoes from inside; a foolish, silly remark, common in Germans. He plopped them in the back of his Vespa, and smiled charmingly as he put his helmet on, leaving their heads without one as to let them experience the excitement and danger of getting a concussion if they fell off from the bike.

"Time to cross a sea on my Vespa - to London!" Romano cried, beautifully. "To beautiful clothes!"

Germany screamed, unknowing of these simple adventures he had been missing out on in his dull German home in Germany.

* * *

"I feel like my pleasant afternoon will be interrupted by foreign homosexuals bursting in through my window, shattering my new, expensive glasswork." said England to himself, sipping his tea.

He was completely wrong, of course; the Vespa ripped through the door and _blessed_ him with an Italian screaming, "Get the fuck up, motherfucker, we're going shopping!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note of Amazingness: **Oh, hello there; I was hoping this would be one of those stories where my opinions don't really count so I was like, 'well i don't need an author's note then' because I really do hate writing them because then I feel egotistical which I am but regardless, because a certain reviewer doesn't have an account it's time for my first author's note in this story and EGOTISM, fuck yeah.

_"Not so funny, do you know how insulted I feel by this? I know, Romano's a dick but please this story is full of offense...if you don't want to offend, you should say that."_

Well, it's not like the review's all that rude, so it's not a flame; meh. It would have been more fun to get a full-out flame, to be quite honest. But otherwise; please work on your reviews, this gave me no information on the offending subject matter. What is Romano . . . just being a dick? Because not gonna lie, I didn't think he was being much of a dick; I've seen more people being dicks in grade school; I think he's just vain and ignorant and that's human and that's my interpretation; do you mean he's a dick compared to all the other Romano's, so to speak, in other fanfiction? Because hey, it's fanfiction. Most of the Hetalia fanfiction is just gay sex with no plot and character derailment begging for reviews; there are some that are lovely, with characters being actually themselves and meaningful text and beautiful comparisons, and I won't deny them; but really I don't even read a lot of Hetalia fanfiction, besides with my one friend to laugh at the ridiculousness of some. Why should I say I don't want to offend? Offense is just another thing to laugh at, and that's really one of the biggest reasons I'm here, to write and laugh; almost none of my fanfictions here are serious, and it's the internet. Don't quite care as much.

I know that tl;dr paragraph will say "HEY, I CARE" but honestly I don't, I just _cared _to let you know _exactly_ what I meant; I don't hate negative reviews because most of my writing is shit, but hey that's what English class is for; just please add some substance to them so I can be all "BUTTHURT I WILL NEVER WRITE AGAIN UGHHHH"

seriously that's what all the cool kids are doing.

* * *

"Oh my God!" England gasped in horrific horror, staring at the door. "My door has been blown away!"

"Indeed." said Japan, also looking through the door. "I don't think you'll ever see it again, I'm afraid."

". . . sorry?" Romano said, but he had been taught apologies meant nothing compared to actions [probably the only thing he remembered from his manners lessons] and ducked his head, maybe just a little embarrassed [usually he was just a little too stupid to be embarrassed] and, ". . . I'll get you a new door. Maybe! Don't . . . count on it." The doorway was really damaged; if it were a living, sapient being, Romano would have been a murderer, the cool kind who was on the news every night terrorizing the country with TERROR and also wore really nice leather jackets.

"Your apology," England said, turning his head in a slow, drawn out, dramatic way, "Is not accepted."

". . . why is the entirety of time and space out there, England?" Germany stared out the door.

"Because it feels to be. Do you have a problem with time and space?"

"If it's in the _wrong_ place!"

"But space is everywhere." Japan replied. "I have space in my house, and space on my desktop."

"I have space in my closet, if I take out the clothes, but then it's not a closet." said Romano, then paused. ". . . ah, I'm going . . . shopping."

"I heard." said England.

". . . I'll go get you a new door, then."

"If you don't, I think I'll kill you." England's voice was calm and soothing, like sedatives used on a date.

". . . I see!"

Romano then rushed out of the house, and for a moment, only Japan, England, and Germany remained.

". . . well, then." England was unsure of what to say. "While he's out, do you want some lunch? I know it's silly, to serve people who just killed my beautiful, just-painted door, but really, there's too much to go around, and - "

"My apologies, England-san; I'm afraid Romano-san is calling me to help him pick out the best possible door! I must go, then!"

An awkward silence ensued between the two blondes left.

". . . I already ate."

"Probably the souls of children." England looked down at his tea, biting his lip. "I don't get why nobody wants to eat with me these days. I spend all this time waiting for people I've invited and they never come and then they say the most silly of excuses, like 'oh, i had to save my dying economy' or 'pirates invaded' or 'VOLCANOES PREVENTED ME FROM BOARDING A PLANE.'", he imitated the last one perfectly, down to the capital letters. "I just . . . it feels as if nobody truly appreciates me, Germany." he paused, and laughed a little, the fake awkward sort of laugh your parents do when they're trying not to cry. ". . . I don't know why I'm telling you this, but . . ."

Germany twitched for a moment as he saw purple smoke coming from the kitchen, and then back at the angsting man in front of him who had lost his way to the "Hurt/Comfort/Angst" genre; he sighed.

"I'll eat with you, England."


	4. Chapter 4

DOME UH BESO = NOT ACTUAL SPANISH. it's a joke so it's funny. you see in a sketch nobody could read himaruya's handwriting so it looked like dome uh beso instead of _dame un beso_, which means 'give me a kiss'; however it is now in my canon that Spain uses gratuitous Spanish that he doesn't really understand. Sometimes he just adds -ito or -o to the end of something to make it sound Spanish.

_SHUT UP IT'S BRILLIANT_

* * *

"I'm hungry." Romano said, after a few minutes of carrying the many bags of clothes, and a card for a friend of a friend of a cousin who liked to build birdhouses and would probably be able to build a door; Romano glanced at his travelling companion, who seemed mildly irritated at having to carry the majority of the bags. Romano wondered if perhaps he should take some of the bags but decided, _no, no, I won't._

"We are almost back to England's house -" Japan suddenly stopped, swallowing his words in a large gulp. Like a whale, Romano thought. He liked whales. Whales were pretty cool. ". . . but his food is simply awful." he muttered. "And if we say 'no', he'll get offended . . . ah, I know!" Japan turned back to the Italian with a polite smile. "Why don't we go get something to eat right now? Since you are so hungry - I know a good restaurant nearby!"

"Where is it?" Romano asked, eyes narrowing almost suspiciously. "What type of food, by the way? I can't eat anything with lemon. I'm allergic to lemon. So if it has a lot of lemon, I'll, like, die. And potatoes are just ugly." Potatoes were like what would happen if Germans were turned into women and then turned into small children who were starving, thus dug into the ground to find food, but instead became stuck in the holes and then became potato fossils and then people ate them. "I hate potatoes. I can't stand them. Even a little bit. If the menu has potatoes, I will write an angry letter." Romano's expression darkened. "And you don't know my angry letters."

Which was true; nobody_ truly_ knows about Romano's angry letters. There is a story out there that the reason Youtube comments are so angry is because every single person on Youtube is Romano quoting snippets of his angry letters.

There was an awkward pause, and then, ". . . I see." Japan seemed to struggle with words for a moment. "It's . . . quite alright. I shall find a restaurant suitable for your . . . cultured tastes."

"Where is it?"

"You shall see." said Japan mysteriously. After Romano asked five more times, he finally gave an exasperated, annoyed sigh, as if about to say the restaurant's name. Instead, he told Romano that if he asked one more time, he would rip off his genitalia.

After a few minutes, Romano texted his BFF. Or, he punched in a bunch of numbers and hoped it would find itself in Belarus's phone.

By the power of friendship, it did.

He had texted her, "hey", and she replied warmly, "What do you want? I am not going to have sex with you to prove that you are heterosexual, stop asking; I am busy having incestuous relations with my brother."

"isn't incest bad?" he asked.

"stfu & gtfo, bitch." she replied politely.

"ok" he said, and stopped texting, instead deciding to look through his contacts. He had five, in total; Spanish Bastard, Veneziano, Belarus, the Suicide Hotline, and the Sex Hotline. He decided to close his eyes and press random buttons on his phone and see who he would call while Japan stared at him like the amazing boy he was. He heard the phone calling someone, and opened his eyes, listening.

"_Hola_," said a sensual voice. "This is Dome uh Beso . . . your friendly neighborhood churro salesman . . . oh, sorry! I mean, uhm - this is Dome uh Beso, Sexual Fantasy Hotline . . . I am very . . . _excited_ to have you here with me . . . I am a hot Spanish poolboy . . . make all my erotic dreams come true . . . _ hola."_

Romano couldn't speak for a moment, so Spain continued, trying to act sexual in a way that didn't make him seem like a pedophile.

"Oh, my dear _gracias . . . _your hair is as soft as grass, I must touch it . . . when I do, I moan so femininely, my dear _amour-o._" Spain whispered. "I just want my long, thick, _erect-o hola_ deep inside your soft, velvety _hola, just hola-ing all night long - _"

"Excuse me." Romano said. "I would like a lady, please."

"I see, my _erotic kittenito._" Spain replied. "I shall fetch . . . Antonia."

"I'd much prefer Roxanne." Romano said. "Roxanne shares my interests."

_"I shall fetch Antonia."_

Suddenly, a bunch of loud clattering noises boomed in Romano's ear, and he pulled away, as Japan glanced around, muttering, "I know it's here somewhere . . . "

Then, a voice.

"_Hola, mi uno dos tres-o. I am Antonia . . . I am here to make all your wildest dreams come true, for a very small price . . . but you like slut-os, correct? Just like you like your cheerios in the morning . . . "_

The voice was not unlike a man pretending to be a woman. Romano wondered where Antonia had come from; he had thought it was only Spain and a few other girls; he had never heard of this Antonia. There was a slight mysterious pull to her, but Romano was a chaste young boy and said, "Antonia, get away from the phone. I want to hear from Roxanne."

Antonia sighed slowly. _"But my dear . . . " _she seemed at a loss for a minute. _". . . Spaghetti amour-o, I love you so much . . . please take me right here and now, I am so full of erotic hola. Please tell me what you would like to do to my soft, hola-ful hola . . . "_

"Get me Roxanne!"

_"Please have sex-ito with me . . . "_

Romano hung up, and Japan took his hand. "I found it." he said, smiling.

In front of them stood a Chinese restaurant.


End file.
